Gypsy Moth


He told me once, over drinks late one night,
“I once loved a woman
with every nerve and blood cell,
and I would have given everything.”
But she did not find within
the answering fire, or not enough.
She was afraid, afraid of being different.
So in the end, he jumped, but
she would not
throw herself into the flame.
He burned alone.

HemmingPlay

“The lyfe so short, the craft so long to lerne." --Chaucer

yaskhan

Poetry, Photography, haiku,

Upashna

In happiness my words I lack, in grief they overflow.

The Wild Heart of Life

Creative Nonfiction & Poetry

- MIKE STEEDEN -

THE DRIVELLINGS OF TWATTERSLEY FROMAGE

%d bloggers like this: